Thomas Hewitt: End Of The Line

Lost

Warnings: Gore, descriptions of violence & death. This one's heavy, but bear with me.

The sun had begun it's decent by the time the tires found their way to the gravel road that led to their home. For Thomas, the day had gone by excruciatingly slow. Tuesday's had a habit of doing that, keeping him tied to the butcher's table without a customer in sight. The bell atop the door had only rung two, maybe three times, he couldn't quite remember. He'd been distracted by the clock, watching its arms refuse to move for as long as it's machinery would allow. Noon had felt like an eternity, the hands had rested on twelve and six longer than they should have. Even then as he drove, it seemed if he were to look again, they'd still be sitting right where he'd left them, taunting him from within their circular domain that hung high on the wooden wall. The red lights had taken their place instead, stopping him every chance they got to drag out his trip home. As he sat at the last one before the road opened up, he grumbled at the significant lack of need for the thing. There wasn't another car in sight, in fact, there never was. He was certain they weren't the only ones that had found paradise in the hills, but sometimes he wondered if it was truly made only for them to call home. It was nice, he thought, to imagine the sunset over the mountains and the way the clouds sunk low to bathe themselves in the blushing horizon was painted for them and them alone to behold. It was beautiful in it's attempt to rival her, but it could never quite take his breath away like Ronnie could. As soon as the light turned green, his focus was returned to her and his foot on the pedal, which he pressed down to the floor. It would be only minutes now until the sun would disappear behind it's rocky mesa for the night and he'd be in her arms again, his favorite part of the day. He felt more deserving after a full day's work to be gifted with her gentle touch, he'd at least earned it in some way. Though still, he could never quite fathom how he'd gotten her, how a woman like Ronnie was waiting for him to walk through the door and take her in his embrace. He still thought himself a thief for stealing away with her, a jewel he didn't deserve in the slightest, though she always argued otherwise. Her mouth was a fountain of never ending affirmation, her eyes a pool of eternal praises she'd deemed him worthy to bathe in. In reality, she was the one deserving of such treasures and Thomas would never cease to remind himself of that fact. She'd earned the right to sainthood and he was a beggar, eagerly awaiting to worship at her feet as he turned into the drive. He smiled to himself as he imagined the way she'd laugh at that analogy. Ronnie was always quick to shy away from such exaltation, humble in ways she shouldn't have been. Like a saint, he thought again.

When the headlights fell onto the house his smile was stolen and replaced with a puzzled frown underneath his creased brow. The front door was ajar. Now, Thomas was no stranger to his wife's habits of leaving the windows open, doors unlocked as previously stated, however the sun had set and the night air had long since engulfed the rugged landscape in its chilling embrace. The few times he'd seen it open as it was she and Penny had been there in the grass, but with the wind whipping, he knew Ronnie wouldn't risk bringing her out to play. He turned the key and let the engine die, only to find unease in the silence that befell him as he sat there with his hands in his lap. The only sound was the low moan of the wind clawing at the car door, anxious to take hold of him. There was a light on in the front room, which he struggled to find comfort in. He tried desperately to reassure himself it was nothing, just something that had slipped her mind. That he'd feel silly when he pointedly shut it behind him and she rolled her eyes, like she always did when he nagged her about such simple mistakes. That was all it was, he told himself, just Ronnie letting the wind in for a little too long. He opened the door to be met with it, it's howl greater than it had sounded from within the safety of the truck. As he walked, he started to undo his mask, but let his hands fall when he decided he'd let Penny do it, that was unless Ronnie got to it first. He held onto that thought as he drew closer, doing his best to beat down the lingering unease before he crossed the threshold, but it came back with a vengeance when he stood before the open door. The house was quiet, the usual echo of Ronnie's voice or the pitter-pattering of feet on the floor was absent. The only light that could be found streamed out of the living room, bathing the wooden floors in an eerie orange glow. Eerie had never been a word he'd used to describe even a minuscule detail of their home, it had always been welcoming, warm. Even the glow from the lamp had never distressed him in such a way as it did then. Something wasn't right. In the silence, there was a sound, one he recalled with trepidation because he knew it all too well. It was lonely, cold, unforgiving, but most of all, empty and it made his stomach churn in ways it hadn't in years. She hadn't come to greet him with a kiss yet, Penny hadn't scurried down the hallway to leap into his arms. He stood there waiting in the cold for quite sometime before he found the strength to step inside. The wood strained underneath his shoes, it's creak harmonized with the whine of the wind that whistled it's way through the door behind him, though the chill he felt couldn't be blamed on wind or weather. Each step he took towards that glow seemed to bear down on his chest, heavily. It's weight had sunk into the pit of his stomach, where it festered viciously until it made his breath quicken in an attempt to quell the illness he felt. They should have heard him by now, she should have and she should have been there, questioning his concerned expression, putting it to rest with her hands in his.